mentre piove
by hikachu
Summary: Beatrice firmly believes that love and sex mean pain. For some reason, Battler decides that he needs to change her mind. PWP; post EP4.


It happened during one of the few peaceful moments between them.

They were sitting on the same couch, empty teacups resting on the coffee table. There was something unusual in the air and in that silence, though neither of them could have said what. Perhaps it was merely the lack of words and violent emotions that brought them to look at each other with the need to understand, if only a little, who the person sitting with them really was.

Beatrice had been staring at the rain falling down heavily on the flowers outside, when Battler spoke.

"Whenever you're talking about love," he started, "you're always so bitter..." His voice was very quiet and almost detached - like his gaze, which seemed to go past the witch; almost empty.

Probably, he didn't realize that he'd actually said those words aloud until Beatrice snapped out of her reverie to look at him.

"What did you say?" Her expression was genuinely curious, as if, just like Battler himself, she'd been unsure as to whether he'd actually talked or not.

Battler pressed his back against the cushions, trying to sink back in that relaxed atmosphere from before, but in vain.

"Whenever someone mentions love," he explained, "you get very cynical--or you simply get worse in that sense. Hm, it's not like you act like a nice person usually." A pause. Beatrice was watching him attentively, her head tilted in a childish manner.

The silence was really short, and died with her laughter. Beatrice laughed, throwing her head back, both at the concept of love per se and Battler's odd naïveté.

"It's because you're a human," she said, tapping his nose with the point of one slender finger as her eyes became cruel. "You're also very young. Have you ever felt what they call love, Battler?"

Hearing the question, Battler found himself gritting his teeth for a reason he didn't understand: no, he had never fallen in love, so why did he feel as if there _was_ something he could have said, an argument he could have used if only he'd found it amidst his thoughts.

"When you fall in love, you will finally grow up: you will face something you've only dreamed of, and you will see its true essence. Love is lust, attraction. Eternal feelings are lies made up by poets and cowards."

Battler grinned bitterly.

"You sound just like an old woman. And, honestly, I understand that witches are supposed to be evil, but if you really must stick to the stereotype, then make your speech sound a little less clichéd at least."

Beatrice's eyes narrowed. "Witches aren't supposed to be evil: what we do and who we are is our own choice. Your ignorance never fails to amaze me, Battler~"

Hearing her chuckle, Battler felt himself smile too (even if her words had stung like salt on a fresh wound, for some reason).

And perhaps he truly was stupid, because even now, he still wanted to know.

"What about..." he said and swallowed. "What about lust--sex. If you don't even believe in love, why do you want it to hurt so much--"

This time, the witch's laughter was so loud and high-pitched that Battler found himself grimacing.

"You really are young, aren't you? Just like a naive child~ Do you even know anything about these things? If you don't make it exciting, then sex too will be simply 'another thing'--one of those you do out of habit or necessity!" Beatrice explained knowingly. "But I forget, it's only natural that someone like you would believe that merely doing it is enough--maybe, with 'the one you love', huh? Ahahah~ Someone like you, who likes to delude himself so much, will never have any fun, or know what true pleasure is."

The witch smiled, showing her teeth. "Maybe I should teach you?"

"Hah! As your opponent, I could never allow that. It would be the same as admitting that you are right, letting you twist my own ideas to suit your own--and I won't turn into a puppet!"

Beatrice's grin got even wider.

"Then, how will you make me change my mind about this? Does that mean that you will--"

Battler blushed, suddenly realizing his own naïveté and what, exactly, he had involuntarily implied with his previous statements. He opened his mouth to speak and defend himself, but whatever he had wanted to say was forgotten by the time his cheeks had turned pink: Battler had dug his own grave because he had let - not for the first time - his impulse to contradict the witch overcome his reason, giving her one more chance to laugh at him.

"How cute," Beatrice sneered, noticing his expression. "But if you start blushing when we talk about these things, I'll begin to doubt whether you are Kinzo's grandson or not, Battleeer~"

Battler gritted his teeth and watched as the other laughed gracelessly. It surely was anger (and humiliation) that he could feel surging inside him, but beneath those violent emotions, no matter how hard Battler tried to deny it, there was pity, and, perhaps, even a hint of sadness, as he thought of this woman that wanted him to believe in magic and refused the existence of such a basic thing as love.

Beatrice hadn't stopped laughing yet when he moved: it was only when she felt his fingers closing around her wrist, that the witch fell silent.

"What--"

"Didn't you want me to 'change your mind'?" The redhead grinned boldly, hoping the other wouldn't notice the increase in his heartbeat. This is just a joke; nothing is going to really happen, he told himself, but Battler still couldn't calm down. The way Beatrice's grin wavered didn't help at all.

"What are you doing...?" she whispered when Battler's free hand cupped her left cheek and she could feel his breath caressing the other side of her face.

"I... already told you... didn't I..." Battler's voice was empty and barely audible even as he spoke directly into the witch's ear. Even up close, Beatrice's skin looked perfect and white like fresh snow, and it emanated a soft, flowery scent, and this new knowledge erased, for some reason, the reassuring voice stating that this was nothing else and nothing more than a prank.

Battler kissed her cheek and Beatrice's hands, now both free, rose to his shoulders, probably to push him away, though in the end she didn't. Battler couldn't understand her behavior and thought - very distractedly - that this could be a good chance to stop and laugh before Beatrice became the one making fun of him and decided to use this situation to embarrass him again.

But stopping felt impossible, and his lips had covered half of the witch's before Battler could realize what he was doing. And he would have kissed her again - properly, this time - if Beatrice hadn't finally stepped out of her trance.

"You--You. Naïve. Fool," she hissed. "Just what do you think you are doing?!" Her hands were clawing in vain at the skin hidden beneath the white shirt that Battler was wearing.

"Simply what the great Golden Witch asked me to do," the boy explained with a serious tone. His gaze was oddly calm, fixed on the other's blue, blue eyes to catch even the slightest change that could occur in them.

It was quite... refreshing and a bit weird, seeing Beatrice of all people getting so nervous about an innocent kiss like that one. Perhaps, she wasn't used to be on the receiving end, or the gesture had been childish enough to startle her, or...

...could it be that this woman, who often bragged about her vast experience, was afraid of being proved wrong?

"You idiot!" Beatrice's voice was still a venomous hiss, though considerably louder: a clear sign that her anger must have increased too. "You really are stupid!" she spat, "Do you seriously think that an artless virgin like you can--"

The rest of her sentence was swallowed by Battler's lips, warm and slightly parted.

For the briefest moment, Battler's confidence had wavered--almost dissolved under the heavy blow inflicted by the witch's words, but the resolution to prove her wrong had been stronger, the warmth and the softness of her body against his had been far more tempting.

His hand slid along her cheek to cup her jaw; they were close, and he could feel the exquisite artifact of delicate bones and sweet flesh that was her body through his own. Battler's lips moved slowly but firmly, caressing hers. Both had their eyes half-open, both their gazes were full or resolution, but while Beatrice's was full of defiance, Battler's held a kind of gentleness that she had never seen when his eyes were fixed on hers. If possible, this fact made her struggle even more fierce, but it didn't last long: soon, Beatrice was forced to acknowledge that Battler was too heavy for her to throw him to the ground, but... what actually made her surrender was another thing: his arms, sneaking around her torso and bringing their chests together in a gesture that contained both a slowly-growing passion and a kindness that Beatrice had either forgotten or never experienced.

Finally, slowly, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth, eagerly responding to the kiss to drive away that strange urge to cry that had inexplicably awoken in her.

Battler's fingers were flat on her back and the palm of his right hand was incredibly warm against the bare skin between her shoulder blades. His mouth moved together with the witch's at first, his tongue caressing hers and trying to set a calmer pace, but it soon became evident that Beatrice wanted to lead this dance at all costs--that she wanted to turn this into some sort of fight or game, but Battler wouldn't allow that: wet sounds followed each one of his tries to distance himself from the other, only to have Beatrice's mouth following and attacking his again right after the kiss was broken.

"Nnn..." As much as he wanted to resist, the experience was still intoxicating, and not surrendering to Beatrice's sudden outburst of passion was hard. "N-Not... like this..."

Thinking that it would probably help her to calm down, Battler slowly lowered himself on the couch, letting the woman continue with her short but forceful kisses as they moved together: she fell on top of him after a particularly intense kiss, smashing her small nose against Battler's as his head collided with the couch armrest.

"Ow," Battler gritted his teeth. "You're a bit clumsy, aren't you Beato?" he asked rhetorically, laughing, and then lifted his head just enough to deliver a quick peck to the tip of her nose.

Beatrice felt at a loss: she didn't know how she was supposed to react in such a situation--she... she wasn't used to this, couldn't understand it--perhaps, she hated it, she--

"You have a cute side too, then?" The tips of Battler's fingers were brushing against her cheekbones, and Beatrice noticed just how warm her whole face felt--no way, was she... blushing?

She glanced at the young man lying beneath her, not knowing what to say or do. His smile had always been bright, but seeing that sincere expression on his face right now was not only confusing, but... for some reason, it felt a little bit painful too.

When she realized that Battler was not going to move and that he was, indeed, waiting _for her_, Beatrice bit her lip, fighting back that melancholic, odd feeling from earlier.

"You idiot!" The witch had meant to shout, but the exclamation had come out weak and almost broken. "You... idiot...!", she repeated, and tried to punch the other in the chest... but her fists were weak and clumsy.

Battler couldn't manage more than a half grin as his hands closed around her wrists to stop the punches and drag the other closer.

"Yeah, I'm probably and idiot for doing something like this," he admitted sheepishly, and sat up slowly, carefully guiding the witch into sitting on his lap, her thighs brushing against his through the thick fabric of her elegant dress.

Battler's lips kissed the spot under Beatrice's right ear first, gradually descending to the base of her neck and her collarbones through a messy path made of a myriad of quick kisses that, while sloppy, touched that white, white skin almost lovingly, as though as, had they been even slightly rougher, those fleeting touches would have bruised the witch's flawless flesh.

Still, Battler's kisses got more passionate as his mouth found what little of her breasts was left uncovered by the white lace and black velvet of her dress: he could feel clearly the sweet rise of the flesh and the heart frantically beating underneath it; that pleasant, flowery scent that seemed to envelope Beatrice's body got stronger and stronger as Battler reached the dip between her breasts--he buried his nose there, trying to uncover more skin to worship with the clumsy help of his left hand, while the other was busy undoing the tiny clasps on the back of the dress.

When he felt the heavy velvet loosening around the witch's torso, Battler started to tug at it: the puffy sleeves flattened and slid down, and Battler stopped to kiss Beatrice's now bare shoulders, sucking lightly on the skin as if to savor it.

"I-It will leave a mark," Beatrice pointed out, vaguely irritated, when she noticed that Battler's mouth kept insisting on a certain spot on her shoulder.

"I know," he replied, and the witch knew he was smiling, "I'm not hurting you, though, right?"

And it was true, that even though she could feel his teeth, along with his lips and tongue, on her body, he wasn't hurting her, but--

"As if a little bit of pain could--" Battler interrupted her with a kiss: it was sudden and rather short, and by the time his lips released hers, the witch's chest was completely exposed to the air. Still, the kiss hadn't been aggressive, and only barely tainted with hunger; Beatrice could have said the same about Battler's gaze as he studied her stomach and the flushed skin of her chest.

It was something new, that she couldn't understand, and yet it was powerful enough to make her feel self-conscious, shy--as if she had been a virgin. It was... scary, Beatrice thought, watching as Battler discarded quickly his jacket and tie.

It was scary, yes, but also sweet--and her hands moved of their own accord, covering Battler's larger ones and gently moving them aside, to undo the buttons of his shirt. The youth gasped, and Beatrice knew then that her cheeks were red.

--maybe it was this gentleness that hurt her the most now.

And yet, even when Battler's shirt was a crumpled heap on the floor and he wouldn't move, Beatrice could not let go of this illusion (did she want to believe, even if only for this once?), and pressed her forehead to his. Battler's eyes slowly met hers, and she almost closed her eyelids, wanting to hide herself from that expression that confused her with its mix of sweet lust and something else which she didn't dare name.

One of Battler's arms curled around her, and his hand was pressed against her lower back, while the other slipped under her gown to rest on a pale knee. He pressed closer, making their noses bump affectionately against each other: it was a childish gesture, but it was enough to make Beatrice's blush darken.

"Do you... even know what... you're doing?" She asked against his lips, trying to sound arrogant and failing miserably.

Battler smiled; his eyes were fixed on her lips.

"I am... proving you wrong,"

They stared at each other, panting, until one of the two - or perhaps both - decided to break the silence and the distance, and their mouths met again and they touched, skin against skin, bare chest against bare chest. Battler whispered her name over and over as he kissed her breasts, but the reverence that filled his voice and the loving way his hands caressed her, made Beatrice unable to laugh at him.

He dragged her closer across his lap, but was disappointed when the heavy layers of Beatrice's gown got in the way, keeping their bodies from entwining. And maybe it was the lust that made them clumsy, but it took several efforts to undress the witch and free her from the elaborate dress once and for all.

Their bodies touched again, more, closer, and a loud moan escaped Beatrice's mouth when the other began to kiss her face and her body again. Hearing her voice like that was addicting, and Battler started to kiss her more passionately, concentrating on those spots that he now knew would give her more pleasure.

"Ba--ttler..." Her voice broke as she tried to call his name, and it was such a sweet sound that Battler started to unconsciously push his groin against hers and his hold on the other became almost painful.

It wasn't a pained gasp or a reproach that awoke him from that lustful stupor, though, but Beatrice's hands, quickly unfastening his belt and unzipping his pants, and then slipping under his underwear: unlike the rest of her body, the tips of her fingers were cool, and Battler hissed when they brushed against his erection to free it from the restraining cloth. But even then, her hand did not leave him, and continued to massage the heated flesh with her palm.

"W-Wait..." Battler murmured, grabbing her wrist quickly. He didn't want her to stop, but if the witch kept on touching him like that, he knew he wouldn't last much longer; besides... wasn't the purpose of all this to show Beatrice that sex wasn't just a matter of lust--to make _her_ feel... lov--

"What's wrong," the witch asked, half surprised, half annoyed.

Battler looked at her, at her flushed face and her moist lips, and kissed her on the mouth.

"I told you that this time things would be different," he said, and lowered the other down on the couch, covering her with his own body, careful not to crush her with his weight, as if he wanted to hide, protect her from the rest of the world. Some of the longer locks had escaped the intricate bun that Virgilia did for her every morning, and Battler curled them around his fingers, kissing them as if they were something sacred.

Beatrice gasped.

"W-What's with you now--"

The young man didn't answer, and instead grabbed the hand that had touched him, kissing each one of her fingers, then her palm and her wrist.

"You stupid witch," he said quietly, "let me take care of you,"

Beatrice's eyes widened, but she recovered quickly, and crossed her arms and closed her legs as if she had only just noticed that she was almost completely naked.

"Beato..." Battler pronounced her name as if he were talking to a child. His hands descended on her thighs, massaging them reassuringly. Bit by bit, they slid closer to that part of her - the only one - that was still covered.

Two of his fingers caressed the damp spot on her panties. The touch was kind in its own way, though still teasing. Battler felt her tremble, lifting herself a little to meet his touch, silently asking for more, and he tugged at the white cotton, finally exposing all of her before his eyes. Reassured by the witch's moans, Battler slid his fingers inside of her. Soon, Beatrice's hand covered his, guiding him to her stiff clitoris as her wet flesh clenched around his fingers.

Battler glanced at her face, seeing her mouth as it moved and formed voiceless words to ask for more. He bit his lip and, fighting again against his baser instincts, pulled his fingers out.

His left arm slid around the witch's shoulders to keep her closer; their hearts were beating against each other.

"Now... I..." Finding the words was difficult: not because he didn't know what he wanted to say or do, but because he was starting to doubt himself a little--he was no expert at this, and while Beatrice had - more than once - hinted that she was no virgin, Battler was still afraid that he could hurt her.

Beatrice blinked before Battler's troubled face; then, she understood. She understood and although she wasn't feeling any pain at all, hot tears started to stream down her face. She had wanted him, cared for him, but she had never thought that this boy-almost-man would ever look at her with anything else than hatred or rage filling his eyes.

"You... idiot..." she whispered, and hugged him with all of her strength, urging him to go on.

"Yes," Battler replied, tightening his own hold on her, and clasping her hand with his free one. "Yes, I am an idiot."

Then he entered her, trying to keep his rhythm slow at first, but Beatrice was already dripping wet and soon she arched into him, trembling, trying to be bold but only revealing more of that unusual shyness that had taken over her during their lovemaking.

They didn't last long, and Battler watched her face carefully as her climax finally poured from her core; he watched and kissed her forehead and held her closer, even though this time he knew that it would hurt her. Beatrice kept whispering his name over and over, almost as if she wanted to make sure that he wouldn't go away and forget about her.

Battler didn't let go of her even when the sensations caused by their climax started to fade and a languid drowsiness began to settle in. He kissed Beatrice's wet cheeks, and she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest.

She looked so young, so... human. Like someone who could be hurt and love like everyone else did. Suddenly, Battler's head was full of things he wanted to say aloud, to tell and maybe even promise her, but the first thing that escaped his mouth was:

"Like this..." he murmured, "it looks almost like we--"

"I know." Beatrice's muffled voice interrupted him. "I know," she repeated, and her voice was trembling again. "That's why you're an idiot."

And Battler knew what she meant: 'this is only an illusion', 'this proves nothing because you don't love me'. He knew, so he didn't speak again.

He simply kissed the top of her head, and Beatrice pressed closer.

They slept curled together, refusing to break that illusion if only until the rain stopped.


End file.
